


Sweet Therapy

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Baking, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Pancakes, pretty much OOC lol, slightly cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most rats and bees would raid a kitchen, not make Christmas morning pancakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for the lovely Jigensgirl!

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to call an exterminator when there’s a rat in my kitchen.”

 

Kiza leaned sleepily against the doorjamb, running one hand through her hair while the other scratched at her stomach. She was barefoot, flannel PJs hanging low on her hips, her “ _BEE-utiful!_ ” shirt riding up to show her stomach. Anyone looking at her would have thought she was adorable, worthy of praise.

 

Chicanery sneered.

 

“Says the insect-child. Get lost.”

 

“Says the rat using honey from said insects. And it’s _my_ kitchen. What are you doing down here anyway? Everyone else is asleep.”

 

That much was true at least. Chicanery had never cared much for Earth holidays—why would he? The planet was supposed to be harvested _months_ ago—but even he couldn’t ignore the pervasiveness of Earth’s winter celebrations. It certainly didn’t help that he was now (somewhat tenuously) employed to the lead Abrasax, youngest Entitled, and all around-Earthling.

 

Jupiter Jones had a bit too much Christmas spirit. In his opinion.

 

Truly though, the Stinger household (and what a shameful base of operations!) had been decked ceiling to floor with every manner of decoration. Her Majesty and the wolf-boy had spent hours last week flying with wings and gravity boots, stringing fairy lights from every available beam, even going to far as to plant colored bulbs in the nests so that the honeycomb shone green and red. There were bows on every door, bells hanging from every window, she’d dusted fake snow here and there—completely redundant, there was snow right outside—and insisted on making a variety of confections at least once a day. The cupboards and kitchen counter were now host to a whole army of gingerbread men.

 

It had all left Chicanery… somewhat rattled. Not that he wasn’t one to rally. As a splice bred for servitude he was engineered to need very little sleep and there were plenty of ingredients left over from Her Majesty’s “baking extravaganza.” Perhaps this would help get him into the Queen’s good graces. Besides, what else was he supposed to do, trapped on this backwater planet?

 

Kiza covered a laugh at his pained silence. “Oh my god,” she choked. “You’re making _pancakes_?”

 

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” he corrected and then realized that probably hadn’t helped his cause. With a scowl Chicanery returned to his batter.

 

“For the love of— _why?_ ”

“Obviously you’re not as knowledgeable of Earth customs as you lead our Queen to believe. It’s called ‘breakfast in bed’”

 

“Don’t even try it, I’ve gotten dad to wait on me more times than I can count. You still haven’t answered my question. _Why?_ ”

 

“Is this not appropriate on Christmas morning?”

 

“So you’re just being nice.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“They’re poisoned.”

 

“See for yourself,” and Chicanery lifted the spoon.

 

Somehow during all this Kiza had wandered up to the stove and Chicanery had moved back a smidge until they were nearly chest-to-chest, facing off like they were about to engage in a cooking battle royale. Chicanery tossed his braid and raised an eyebrow, hefting the spoon up until a few drops escaped to the floor. He pushed it closer.

 

Slowly, refusing to break their glare, Kiza leaned forward and tasted some of the batter. Her eyes went wide.

 

“Oh _fuck you_ that’s good.”

 

“Please don’t,” Chicanery drawled and turned back to his bowl.

 

Kiza’s hand flew out, dipping into the batter and grabbing some more before she got whacked with the spoon. Chicanery let out an inarticulate yell.

 

“Where the hell did you learn to cook anyway?”

 

“Unsanitary…” he muttered. “I’m a _service_ splice. Trained for a focus in legalities, certainly, though I was bred to assist my employer with nearly anything they might need. Including sustenance. Though admittedly, Lord Balem never called on this particular skill set…”

 

“So you’re a maid?” Kiza grinned.

 

“No.”

 

“I’ve got an apron you should wear.”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“Three drops of Regene-X says you’re wearing it in under ten minutes.”

 

Chicanery definitely didn’t have access to the Abrasax serum, though we was—somehow—wearing Kiza’s “Kiss the Bee-Bae” apron in five minutes, thirty-two seconds. He tried not to think too hard on how his life had come to this, especially when she was snapping pictures _and_ video.

 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he growled.

 

Kiza pursed her lips, casting an annoyed glance upwards where the rest of the household was still tucked into bed. “You kidding? Dad might have gotten the cure, but he still treats me like I’m on my deathbed. Afternoon naps _every_ day. Like I’m a toddler! I swear I won’t need to sleep for another month, as least. And again—MY kitchen. It’s totally normal for me to want milk at 4:00am. You? Formal evil rat-splice baking Christmas morning? Weirdo.” For all that though, Kiza heated up a skillet and started tossing in butter to coat the pan.

 

Chicanery scoffed. “You can leave, you know.”

 

“And leave you alone down here? No way. I’m keeping this family safe. You can make a bomb out of anything these days.”

 

“Yes, I’m going to feed you all before I kill you…”

 

“Sounds like something you’d do.”

 

Chicanery paused, then decided he wasn’t willing to admit that, yes, that was exactly something he’d do.

 

It was an odd sort of morning, the two of them working to get everything in order. Kiza moved off only once to make sure the presents were all under the tree and she was back within seconds. They only spoke again when Chicanery made to start cooking the pancakes, the small hand on his arm halting him.

 

“You know,” Kiza said slowly. “I’m _really_ good at drawing.”

 

Chicanery blinked. “Good for you.”

 

“What I mean, sarcastic ass, is that there’s this thing here on Earth where people draw elaborate people and scenes with their pancake batter. It’s all the rage. I saw Her Majesty ooo-ing at a bunch of pics the other day, like the nerd she is.” Kiza nodded to the squeeze bottle she’d taken down from the cupboard. “We _could_ make the most epic pancakes this side of the galaxy, impress Her Majesty for days to come…”

 

“Or?” Chicanery prompted, smiling just ever so slightly.

 

“Or we could start our first Christmas with her by being massive _dicks_.”

 

Chicanery snatched the bottle and filled it with batter, pressing it firmly into Kiza’s hand.

 

“Do your worst, bee-brat.”

 

***

 

If anyone had bothered to ask, Jupiter would have sworn that nothing else could surprise her in this life. _Sworn_ it.

 

Oh god she was wrong.

 

“I haven’t been naughty,” she said faintly, staring as Kiza did summersaults on their bed. Caine buried his face further against her shoulder with a growl. “Really. What did I do to deserve this?”

 

“Being awesome,” Kiza answered, somehow managing two flips. How did she do that? The bed wasn’t bouncy. Maybe it was a splice thing… “C’mon, Your Majesty! Wake up! It’s 6:00am!”

 

“It’s 6:00am,” Caine repeated, only loud enough for Jupiter to hear. He sounded like he was plotting murder.

 

“We brought you breakfast in bed!”

 

Which was right about the time that Jupiter noticed Chicanery in the doorway, awkwardly standing with a laden tray and… wearing an apron?

 

Jupiter rubbed her eyes, blinked, and nope, he was still there.

 

“Thanks,” she said. “I think.”

 

Kiza landed with a hard thump. She scrambled off the bed, grabbed the tray from Chicanery, and ran back with it, being sure to nudge Caine extra hard. He sat up with a grunt.

 

“Smells good.” Jupiter smiled, sitting up as well. The tray had toast, bacon, fresh fruit, and something underneath a large silver dome. Kiza had even tucked a tiny Santa between the glass of juice and the fruit bowl. “Wow. This looks great! Thanks you guys.”

 

“Thank Chicanery,” Kiza smirked. She ignored his awkward fidgeting across the room. “Oh. But I’m responsible for the artwork.”

 

“Artwork—?” and Jupiter raised the lid to find a pancake in the shape of Balem Abrasax’s face.

 

She slammed it back down.

 

“… Kiza.”

 

Kiza only grinned. Harder when Caine lunged forward, sniffing at the tray like he’d detected prey.

 

“I made one of all the Abrasax siblings. Now you can literally eat their faces!”

 

Jupiter opened her mouth… closed it. Her face settled into a resigned, mildly frustrated expression. “I hate how tempting that is.”

 

“Me too,” but Caine tossed the lid aside and found the Titus pancake underneath Balem. He bit into it viciously, looking scarily satisfied.

 

“Okay,” Jupiter nodded. “Alright. No one can ever say I’m not flexible. I could get behind this,” and she cut into Balem, eating his eye. “Chicanery? Gonna help me with this one?”

 

“… With pleasure, Your Majesty.” Chicanery produced an extra fork from the apron and set to work.

 

Kiza leaned forward with her face planted in her hands. “Does that mean I get to eat Kiza?”

 

“Please.”

 

“Sweet.”

 

Jupiter was halfway through the—admittedly delicious—pseudo-cannibalized breakfast when she stopped, laying down her fork. “Hey. Where’s Stinger?”

 

“Downstairs,” Kiza said, munching on more bacon. “I made a pancake for him too. To let out his frustrations.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. Of you two.”

 

Kiza smiled, popping another bit of Kalique’s hair into her mouth, dodging Jupiter’s glare.

 

“Meeeeeeerry Christmas!”


End file.
